


these four walls

by zoldnoveny



Series: once and again [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26226451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoldnoveny/pseuds/zoldnoveny
Summary: Here’s the problem Sokka has concerning Jet: he can’t stop getting caught on the details. Bullshit like the way his left cheek dimples when he smiles, or how long his eyelashes are, or the delicate bones in his hands - and he can’t stop remembering what it’s like to kiss him.
Relationships: Jet/Sokka (Avatar)
Series: once and again [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904809
Comments: 9
Kudos: 42





	these four walls

Katara is watching him, which is fine. It’s fine because she’s obviously not mad anymore, once again swept up in the moment and the charm and the romance of it all - honestly, Sokka wouldn’t expect anything less. He knows her, can often predict the next ten steps ahead of her before she makes them herself. She was angry at him, sure, but the second he offered to help, Sokka knew it would be out the door soon enough.

And now he’s laid out on the floor of their ridiculously opulent, upper ring house, while Katara feeds healing waters through the ugly wounds on his chest. Sokka watches through the gaps in the screen-wall as his sister bends over him, this intruder, and whispers to his unconscious form, pleading him to wake. Sokka felt it for himself, that he’s breathing, his heart is beating, had pressed his own fingers into the little valley of his wrist for his pulse. In fact, he’d been the one to throw him over his shoulder and carry him out. As he breathed, his steadily expanding chest was flush to Sokka’s back, uneven but persisting nonetheless. So, sure, there was hope. And Katara was good, tireless, so it wouldn’t be surprising if her nurturing brought him back.

Sokka just didn’t want her to wear herself out, only to be disappointed in the end.

Because it’s about her; she’s the one that puts so much of herself into the wellbeing of others, the one that will, ultimately, be hurt.

It’s during the gray ambiguity of dusk, eating cold noodles around the kang with Aang and Toph, that something shifts. Sokka hears Katara’s gasp regardless of the distance between them, loud and abrasive enough to lift the hairs on his arms. He doesn’t like the sound of that, it teeters dangerously close to panic or pain. So he shoots up and rushes to the other room, Aang and Toph on his heels.

His sister is kneeling with both hands over her heart, eyes blown wide and mouth agape in shock. Beneath her, Jet tosses his head to the side, groaning long and strained, curls clinging to his forehead with sweat, hands fisted at his sides. 

“You’re awake.” Katara reaches for him, pushing the hair from his eyes. “Oh, Jet, we were so worried. But you’re awake, now.”

* * *

When Jet was hurt, Sokka was sure he was going to die. He knew death, knew of its inevitability, its decisiveness. War made a pattern of enforcing this, stealing life from those brave or stupid enough to question it. It made sense, for someone as rash and determined as Jet to be smudged out of the narrative. So he was going to accept it when the last thread of consciousness snapped, would take Jet’s death with the dignity Jet would have wanted. But Katara didn’t let it end like that, kept pushing more water into the raw, tender skin of his purple-red-black chest, bruised and still. Next to Jet’s friends, Sokka watched with bile rising up in his throat. He almost wanted to yell at Katara to  _ just stop _ , because she was making it harder. But then there was a hitch and a cough, and Jet’s fingers twitched.

That’s when Sokka carried him out, stomach still roiling, swallowing down the swelling guilt of  _ I would’ve left him to die if Katara wasn’t there. _

Jet’s friends came with them back to the upper ring, convinced by the promise of further medical care. Smellerbee, the girl, seemed to want to take Jet back to his forest to get better. Or at least the lower ring, where they had supposedly lived during their time in Ba Sing Se - before Jet was taken by the Dai Li. But Longshot, the other one, put a hand on her shoulder to calm her, and suddenly she went along with Katara’s plans.

Now they only periodically drift into the house to check up on Jet. Sokka doesn’t know where they go otherwise, but he can tell it kills them to leave.

Sokka doesn’t know what he’s going to think or say or do once Jet is coherent again. He doesn’t know if he’s still mad at him, unlike Katara who was so quick to forgive him. No, that’s not true. Or fair. It’s not like she’s stupid, just an optimist. And seeing Jet essentially martyr himself for them was a good way to earn forgiveness. 

Katara really liked Jet. The seed of affection was already planted, but now that she can play nurse for him, Sokka thinks it’s sprouted into a tree. That’s just how she is - she likes taking care of people, likes being needed.

Maybe Sokka does too, but in a different way. 

Jet has woken up a few times following the first, but for each occurrence, he typically only drinks a ladleful of water and goes back to sleep. He’s not done as much as utter a single word. Sokka is sure he doesn’t even know where he is, who he’s with. Any of Sokka’s residual anger has been stomped out by the sight of him, weak and fractured. He remembers Jet from the forest, suave and self-assured, confident and capable. And the worst part is that he still gets that little kick in his chest, the same one he recognizes from Suki and Yue.

Jet was first. It was easier to process with the girls - on account of them being, well,  _ girls _ \- but Jet was definitely the first.

Katara is sleeping the next time Jet wakes up. Sokka only got her to do so with the promise that he’d watch over him, although he feels completely incapable of helping him if he were to need anything. Like he does now, as his eyelids flutter open and a wet cough rattles from his chest. He twists up where he lays on the futon, thrashing in a way that obviously does not accommodate his injury. Sokka, who had been drifting off himself, startles to attention. Jet is sitting up and hacking his lungs out into his fist.

Reaching out to steady him, Sokka sets a hand on his back. He’s shirtless, so Sokka can feel how cold and clammy his skin is - can feel the digits of his spine. He’s so skinny now. It’s only been about a week, but he hasn’t eaten anything. Regardless, he retches. Nothing comes up but spit, but he keeps convulsing. Sokka wants to rush out to get his sister, panic seizing him, but he also doesn’t want to leave Jet alone.

Although Katara is the healer, it isn’t like Sokka is incompotent. He can handle this. He’s taken care of her when she’s been sick before, so he can at least keep Jet from keeling over or whatever. 

In an attempt to be soothing, Sokka rubs circles into Jet’s back, scooting closer to touch his leg; keep him steady. Eventually, Jet’s fit tapers off, replaced by ragged gasping as he attempts to catch his breath. Still touching his back, Sokka reaches over to the nearby pail of water to ladle him out a drink. Jet tips his head back and peels his dry lips open, letting Sokka cradle the back of his head and pour water into his mouth. 

He swallows with a visible struggle, his Adam’s Apple bobbing. A stray droplet of water leaks from the corner of his lips, down his chin, the tendons of his neck, into the cradle between his collarbones. Sokka feels like there’s an electric current rocketing under his skin. 

“Well, good morning.” He says after clearing his throat. 

“Fuck.” Jet responds. “Can I have more?”

Sokka feeds him more spoonfuls of water, fingers buried in the wet, coiled curls at the nape of his neck. Jet drinks eagerly, and is eventually strong enough to lift a hand to cover Sokka’s where it clutches the ladle. His brow furrows and eyes shut, drinking like he’s dying of thirst. Which is very fair.

When he’s done, he collapses forward so his forehead is pressed to the junction of Sokka’s neck and shoulder. Sokka swallows thickly and hopes he can’t feel how fast his heart is beating.

“What the fuck happened, man? What are you even doing here?” Jet croaks into Sokka’s throat.

In any other scenario, Sokka would wrench him away and shove him back down, but he gets that Jet is in a fragile state right now. Besides, he doesn’t even really have it in him to summon any of his previous anger. Yeah, no; he’s not pissed at Jet anymore. According to Smellerbee and Longshot, Jet really did come to Ba Sing Se to do better. They don’t have the gang anymore, it’s just the three of them. 

_ He did it because of you _ . Smellerbee told him.  _ Whatever you said to him.  _

Sokka doesn’t know what she means. He doesn’t know if Jet could even tell him, like he is now. 

He thinks he wanted to continue being angry because he’s too stubborn to openly admit a change in mindset. This way, Jet has kind of forced his hand. Because how could he be mad at him as he is now?

“You don’t remember anything?” Sokka asks him.

“I remember looking for you guys. Because of Appa.” There’s a pause as Jet takes a long inhale. “Did you find him?”   
  
Sokka can’t suppress a chuckle. It’s, unfortunately, kind of extremely endearing that Jet cares about that. Dammit. “Yeah. We found him.”

“Good. Good.” Jet’s hand curls around Sokka’s shoulder, and he uses this leverage to pull himself up. “So… what happened next?”

Sokka helps Jet lay back down, situating him until his face relaxes past its previous stone-set grimace. Each time he asks if Jet is comfortable, Jet says  _ yes _ , so Sokka only takes it as the truth when he finally looks the part. He tucks the blanket up to Jet’s shoulders while he starts in on the story of it all, catching him up on the events that unfolded up to this point. Jet listens attentively until his eyelids start to droop, and there’s a rushing sadness filling Sokka’s chest.  _ No, don’t go yet _ , he thinks, selfishlessly.  _ I want to talk to you more.  _

* * *

Jet is up and talking the next time his friends come to see him. Sokka and Katara have moved his spot so he can sit up against the wall, and he’s gotten to the point where he can drink and eat for himself. Sometimes he spills, but he obviously much prefers his autonomy over his cleanliness. He looks much better, too, with the color back in his cheeks and some meat on his bones. Still, with his chest wrapped up and bound in bandages, his injury lingers. Smellerbee keeps looking at it, but Jet doesn’t tell her to stop. 

Longshot sits next to him and puts a hand on his shoulder, gives him a look that has Jet pulling him into a hug. That’s when Sokka leaves to give them the room.

He guesses they’ll take him with them when he gets better. He has no clue where - whether that be back to their home in the woods or here, in Ba Sing Se. Which one would be better for Jet, he has no clue - the forest is hardly accessible for someone healing from a life-threatening injury, but neither is the squalor of the lower ring. It’s not as though Jet can stay with them, or like they can stay and continue looking after him, but Sokka is conflicted. Part of him wants to keep Jet close so he can check up on him, make sure he’s okay. But the other part wants him as far away as possible, so he doesn’t have to think about how he makes him feel.

Sokka can tell this is also an issue for Katara. Now more than ever, she’s latched onto Jet. It’s like Sokka’s always known, his sister is so drawn to the promise of being needed, of offering irreplaceable care and comfort, that she confuses that for reciprocated feelings. It’s not a flaw, or even her fault - just the way she is. The way she was forced to be, growing up without mom around. Sokka admires her for it, how nurturing and caring she is. She’s way more emotionally intelligent and generous than he could ever hope to be.

Now, as she folds her arms over her chest and curls into herself while Jet talks to his friends in the other room, Sokka puts any of his own grievances in a neat corner to be dealt with later. He edges in closer to her to bump his shoulder against her’s.

“Y’know, you’re doing a really good job of looking after him.” He says. “He’s lucky to have you.”   
  
She smiles. “Thanks. He’s an asshole, but he didn’t deserve to die there. It’s the least I can do.”

Sokka feels a stab of guilt, although he doesn’t really know why. He hasn’t done anything to be guilty about - at least, not recently. It’s not his fault that Jet is never going to like Katara back, and it’s not his fault Jet kissed him all those months ago. It’s not even Jet’s fault - not the first part, at least.

“Yeah, well, I  _ did _ carry him out of there, so it wasn’t just you.” Sokka teases.

With a roll of her eyes, Katara bumps her shoulder against his again. “I’m glad you don’t hate him anymore.” She says. “It was about to be  _ so _ annoying to get you to back off.”

“Hey!” Sokka protests. “I’m very open-minded! I can forgive people!”   
  


She fixes him with a flat look. “Sure. Whatever.”   


  
“I just did, didn’t I? You said so yourself.”

Whatever Katara is going to snap back with is cut short when the screen door slides open and Smellerbee and Longshot step out. Katara stands up a bit straighter and her lips quirk into a polite little smile.

They approach, and Smellerbee gives them an unabashed once-over, skirting her gaze from the crowns of their heads to the toes of their boots as she sizes them up. Sokka feels a little uncomfortable under the pointed scrutiny, but he refuses to squirm.

“Thank you for taking care of him.” She says, her words firm and tight but not unkind. Sokka can tell she means it. She gives a sharp nod. “We wouldn’t have been able to afford a doctor, or anything… so thanks.”

  
  
Katara’s smile expands, and she looks so much like their Mother it makes Sokka’s stomach clench. “You’re welcome.” 

“Jet is all we have left anymore.” Smellerbee continues. Longshot puts a hand on her shoulder. “He’s our brother, and we take care of our own. Even if that means… letting someone else do it when we can’t.”   
  
“I understand how hard this must be for you.” Katara reaches out to touch her hand.

“Yeah. Well.” Smellerbee looks down at Katara’s fingers, then back up to her face. “We still have to work. Or else we’ll lose our place in the lower ring.”   
  
“You could always stay here if you need to.” Katara suggests.   
  
“That’s nice, but not an option. You guys will leave soon, and we need something permanent.”   
  
“So you’re gonna stay in Ba Sing Se?” Sokka butts in.

Smellerbee cuts her gaze over to him. Sokka, once again, feels a little uneasy beneath the intensity of her stare. “Yeah.” She says. “It would be nice to go home, but Jet wants to stay. Besides, there’s lots of work here. It’s not a bad place, if you ignore all the classism.” 

Sokka remembers the lower ring, from riding through it on his way here, to the comfortable cradle of high-society. He can’t imagine what it would be like to live there, try and make a life like that. Although he understands poverty, struggling to survive, he’s never attempted it in the urban sprawl. His life of less-than-splendor was manageable in that he was surrounded by family, a solid support system, who was all in it together. In the city, everyone seems to be pitted against each other. 

Smellerbee and Longshot leave, even when Aang asks if they want to stay and eat with them. Sokka respects that they have their own lives and responsibilities to tend to while they’re trying to cultivate their experience here. 

After the meal, Sokka takes a bowl of congee in for Jet. He tells Katara to take a break for the night, that he’ll sit with Jet while he eats. He’s gotten to the point where he doesn’t need constant supervision anymore, but Katara likes to make sure. He’s still too weak to get up and find someone if he needs help. 

While Jet eats, Sokka looks through the bookshelf set up in his room. All the titles are written in fancy, Earth Kingdom script. Sokka can read it, but the characters twist and curl up at the ends in a way that forces him to think extra hard about what he’s seeing.

“So, you’re staying in Ba Sing Se?” Sokka starts, conversationally. He picks up a book to thumb through the pages, before setting it back on the shelf.

“Why wouldn’t we?”

Sokka glances over his shoulder, to look at Jet. He’s got the bowl up to his chin as he scoops out spoonfuls of porridge. Sokka continues, “Smellerbee mentioned you might want to go back to the forest.” 

“Sure I do, but it’s just not realistic anymore.” Jet sets the bowl aside, apparently already done. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand. “It’s been completely overrun by the Fire Army. Some troops moved in and made a base there. That’s why we left.”

Sokka furrows his brow. “I thought you left to make a new start or whatever.”

“That’s part of it. What you guys did really stuck with me - and I realized that I needed to try again. I was wrong for manipulating you, lying to you.” Jet’s eyes dance as he glances away. “But I still don’t completely agree with all you said. We were justified in trying to drive the Firebenders out of that village.” His gaze flickers back, full force.

Sokka is shocked. He thought Jet had already crested this hill, gotten over his flawed mindset. “What? How can you justify trying to kill innocent civilians?”

“Oh, come on.” Jet rolls his eyes. “Innocent? They were from the Fire Nation.”

“So? They’re still just people.”

“Think about that for a second, Sokka. They came from the Fire Nation, to live in the Earth Kingdom. It wasn’t like that village was empty before they got there. If you think they’re so innocent, how about the innocent people they stole a town from?” He scoffs.

Something clenches in Sokka’s stomach, hot and tight like anger, but not quite. No, no. It’s more like frustration. He’s frustrated his point isn’t being made, that Jet is still biting back - and that he makes sense. “That doesn’t mean they deserved to die.” 

“Well, why not? What gave them the right to take our land? Sure, the Fire Army is evil, but it doesn’t stop there. Settlers are just as bad. They come over here and steal from us, steal our lives and our prosperity. Anywhere the Fire Nation colonizes, the price of living is so jacked up, the Earth people living there can’t afford to stay. They’re forced from their homes. Forced into poverty, starvation, death. It’s kill or be killed, Sokka. If we don’t drive them out, they keep coming in.”

Sokka opens his mouth to speak, then finds he doesn’t have any words. He wets his lips. Then finally lands on something. “Those people have suffered from the war too. It’s bad for everyone.”

“Sure, why not. Let’s go with that. But why do we have to suffer at their expense?” Jet clenches his fists at his sides. “The reality of it is that they have a lot more power than we do. If we let them slip through the cracks without making our effort known, nothing will ever change.”

“Nothing will change by killing civilians either!”

“Do you even listen? They’re not civilians. They’re colonizers!” Jet exhales loudly through his nose. “They’re  _ colonizers _ . They stole land - there were people living in that village before, where do you think they all went? Who’s hands are covered in their blood?” There’s a vein bulging in his neck, but he’s not shouting. “Look, you don’t get it. I know that you’ve experienced the reality of this war just as much as anyone, but you haven’t lived through this part of it. You were separated from it all, you didn’t have Fire Nation busting down your doors and stealing from you.”

Now, Sokka’s angry. His frustration has metamorphosed into something ugly and uncontainable. “How dare you! The Fire Nation stole all of our Water Benders from us! All of our resources go into the war effort, to supplying our - our army!” He stutters over that word, army, knowing it’s hardly even that much. “And you think I don’t  _ get it _ ?”

“I know you do, that’s why I don’t understand!” Jet throws his hands to the sides. “Why are you defending them?”

“I’m not! I want to stop them more than anyone!” Sokka paces, unable to stay still. “But I don’t believe in blaming the innocent people just caught up in the crossfire!”

“We have a right to defend our land! To fight for what’s ours! To push back! I know you all live in this fantasy where Aang can just waltz up and defeat the Firelord and the war will be over, but it’s more than that! The Fire Nation has been siphoning livelihood from us for decades. We have to resist them, even as little as we can, to survive! If that means killing people, then that’s what needs to be done. I’m not willing to sacrifice myself and my country for some colonizers! And I don’t think you would be either.”

Sokka works his jaw. He searches the depth of his anger for a witty retort, but the chasm yawns empty. Passion radiates off Jet in waves, and he almost looks near tears. There’s a tightness in Sokka’s ribcage that makes his heart hurt. He can feel his argument weakening, crumbling to sand and leaking between his fingers. He doesn’t know what to think. It’s not like he thinks Jet is right, but he can’t be sure if he’s totally wrong, either. Maybe he had a point- Maybe Sokka hasn’t lived through all the war has to offer.

“Sokka, listen.” Jet starts in again, his voice lowered once more. “I know it’s hard not to buy into. The idea that the Fire Nation is superior. We’ve been forced to cower beneath them for the past hundred years. It’s easy to think that we’re just weak, y’know, and they’re strong. That if we were more like them, things would be better.” Jet looks him dead in the eyes. “But we’re nothing like them. They’re nothing like us. Their ‘innocent civilian’ settlers aren’t innocent. At the very least, they’re complacent. All of them were okay with getting rid of people like us to make room for themselves. Why would you defend them, if they would never do the same for you?”:

“You don’t know that.” Sokka whispers, voice dead in his throat.

“Yeah, I do.” 

Sokka looks away. He’s so confused. Everything Jet said just shot through him like an arrow, piercing through delusions he didn’t even realize he had. He doesn’t even know where he got those thoughts from, the idea that Fire Nation civilians are like him. Sure, he believes there can be innocent people on both sides, but Jet is right. How can they be innocent if they’re living at the expense of someone else? At the expense of an entire nation, an entire culture? Still, does that make it right to kill them? Sokka thinks of the children in that village the Freedom Fighters were going to drown, the little girl clutching her doll. He doesn’t know. Why is this so hard?

“I have to go.” Sokka says. “I’ll send Katara in.”

“It’s fine.” Jet tells him. “I don’t need her right now.”

Sokka nods once, clenches his jaw, and heads out. His blood is rushing in his ears from the exhilaration of the argument.

* * *

The more time Sokka has to mull it over, the more confused he becomes. Isn’t that the opposite of how this is supposed to work? Time is supposed to help him rationalize, understand, but instead it just jumbles everything up, until his thoughts are a tangled, disorganized heap. The worst part is that he keeps getting caught up in the inconsequential details, like the way the muscles in Jet’s neck jumped when he raised his voice, how broken he sounded, the light dancing in his eyes - brown like solid earth, like rich soil, full of life and possibility. Sokka doesn’t know what to think.

It was easy to hate Jet. He was an asshole, slippery-smooth and untrustworthy from the get-go. Immediately, there was some quality to him that grated on Sokka, tucked away and clandestine but persisting. His charm was too polished and manufactured to be without an ulterior motive… But still, something about his poise made him admirable. It beckoned followers. Even though Sokka didn’t like him, he wanted to impress him. Wanted to make him think he was cool.

  
And then Jet kissed him. So.

Maybe he never really hated him in the first place. Was annoyed by him, sure, but that’s different. It was annoying how Jet seemed to be everything Sokka wanted to be, everything he wasn’t - confident, independent, in control. It was annoying that he only seemed to look at Katara. And it was annoying how he made Sokka’s stomach coil into knots and attempt to climb up his throat. 

Sokka is now returning to that place. After Jet almost died, he became arguably less aggravating. But in his growing health, he’s getting back there. He and Sokka’s argument is a perfect example of that. And it’s not even that Sokka thinks he was wrong, or out of line - it’s that he’s making Sokka question all these things he thought he knew for certain and it’s  _ very  _ disorienting. Being around him is stifling, but Sokka wants it. He wants to be with him all the time, which is just. It’s just dumb. 

His excuse is that he likes to look through all the books in that room. That’s true enough, but he could probably just take them with him instead of sticking around to read them in there. Either way, no one seems to question it, so it’s fine. 

“So, does the Water Tribe use the same written script as the Earth Kingdom?” Jet asks offhandedly one day. “And that’s why you can read those books?”   
  
Sokka glances up from where he sits opposite Jet, across the room and propped up on the other wall. Still, the space is narrow, so their ankles brush. “No, it’s a little different. But similar enough to easily pick up on.” This is actually pretty interesting, language stuff, and Sokka likes talking about things he’s interested in because it makes him sound smart. He stands to retrieve papers, brushes, and ink from one of the shelves, before dropping down to Jet’s side. “Here, let me show you.”   
  
Using a book as a table, he smooths the parchment over it with his palms, then uncaps the ink to dip his brush inside. Methodically, he begins to spell out his name. “This is how you write my name back home.” He says, strokes choppy and decisive. “And this is how you would write it here.” This time, the characters are looser, rounded at the edges. “See? They look kind of the same, but they’re obviously different languages.”

“Can you do mine?” Jet asks.

Sokka pauses. It makes sense that Jet wouldn’t know how to write, considering the fact he grew up in the forest where there are no schools, but it never really occurred to Sokka until now. Slowly, he paints Jet’s name in Earth characters. “Like that.”   
  
“And in Water Tribe script?”

He does it. For some reason, it feels personal - intimate, almost, if Sokka was brave enough to venture into that section of his vocabulary. Unlike Earth and Fire, there’s not really a need or desire to learn Water’s script around here. Sharing it with Jet feels like he’s handing over a little piece of himself, one that anyone else wouldn’t be interested to see. 

“Here.” He passes the brush to Jet. “You try.”   
  
“What?” Jet’s eyes dart from his hand to Sokka’s face. “No, that’s okay.”   
  
“Come on, at least try.” Sokka insists. “Then you can say you can write your own name. That’s an important skill.”

Jet’s brow pinches, a crease sinking into the space between while his forehead wrinkles. Sokka wants to reach over and smooth out all that tension with his thumb, but he forces those thoughts into a corner. Jet begins to write, obviously copying the example Sokka gave him, movements shaky and unsure. When he gets stuck, he lets the brush sit for long enough that the ink bleeds. By the time he’s done, he’s created a mess. But if Sokka squints it sort of looks like his name, and Jet is obviously proud of himself.

A little ember glows to life in Sokka’s chest. He stomps it out before it can burst into flames.

“One step closer to literacy.” Jet’s grin is crooked and charming.

“Hey, gotta start somewhere.” Sokka smiles back.

Jet, an eager and enthusiastic student, asks to learn a few other words. Sokka paints them out for him and coaches him through the stroke order, the hidden details and methodology. Although he knows how to write, Earth script is still foreign to him, and he’s figured out the tricks to it a native, who writes with muscle memory more than anything, likely wouldn’t. Jet wants to know how to spell out the elements, then a few animals, weapons, and basic phrases. His sloppy  _ hello _ stretches across the page, beside  _ tree _ , then  _ Earth _ , and  _ Freedom _ . He’s so quick to get it that Sokka can tell he’d pick up reading right away, that he would excel at it. Sokka learned to read by looking through his Father’s old military journals more than anything, curiosity propelling him forward, determined to unveil the mystery of this vast unknown - the multitudes of language he did not understand. Sokka wants to understand everything, piece the world together via theory and intellect, and he can tell that Jet is the same. As non-benders, they’re driven by the same motivation. To be extraordinary, regardless.

Jet’s elbow bumps up against Sokka’s side as he writes, and his face is set in a tight, unmoving determination. It’s not unlike the expression Sokka remembers from the mission they embarked on together in the forest. All of his focus is concentrated into a pinprick, like the ambience around him fades from existence. A stray tendril of hair falls over his forehead, longer now than it was when they first met, having grown out. His eyes move across the page beneath the wedge of his brow, and Sokka is suddenly compelled to move the curl out of the path of his gaze.

He doesn’t, but he wants to. He wants to tuck hair behind Jet’s ear and feel the warmth of his skin, feel the life thrumming beneath his surface. He wants to crack him open and crawl inside and know what dwells within him, what thoughts swim through his mind, what secrets he keeps. 

* * *

“How come you’re playing nurse today and not Katara?” Jet asks him, as Sokka changes his bandages.

Sokka fumbles the gauze in his hands, peeling back the layers until the white starts to fade to pink. “She’s busy.” He gestures for Jet to sit forward, so he can get around to his back. This forces him to lean in close enough to feel his body heat, and the gentle, warm cascade of his breath. “Why, would you prefer her?”   
  
“She’s certainly got better bedside manner than you.” Jet quips, lifting his arms so Sokka can get under his armpits.

“Well, you’re just gonna have to settle.” Sokka drops the gauze into a pile besides Jet’s leg, leaving him bare-chested. The bruise is improving, but is still there’s still ugly purple painted in broad strokes over his ribcage. The edges are yellowing, which is good, but it still looks acutely painful. 

Sokka must be making a face, because Jet speaks up. “It’s fine.” When Sokka glances up, Jet smiles at him around the piece of grass in his mouth - where did he even get that? “It looks worse than it feels.”   
  
“Looks pretty bad, man.” 

“Well, what can I say? Guess I’m just that tough.” Jet’s smile twists into a grin.

With a roll of his eyes, Sokka goes for a fresh roll of bandages. After unravelling a stretch into his palm, he leans back in to start rewrapping, forced to look down the long, brown column of Jet’s throat. Dark hair coils against the nape of his neck, and muscles shift when he swallows. Sokka hurriedly does his work, only to be rewarded by a sharp hiss.

“Hey!” Jet snaps. “Watch it.”

“I thought you were tough?” Sokka challenges, sitting back on his haunches.

“Doesn’t mean you can manhandle me.” Jet sulks and rubs his chest lightly. “Where’s the tenderness?”   
  
“Alright, move your hand.” Sokka makes a vague gesture and settles back in to resume, this time keeping his movements gentle and calculated. Unhurried.

Each time Jet exhales, Sokka can feel it. His chest balloons before sinking back in, like it’s an active struggle. Sokka wonders if it hurts him to do so, considering the pinched tension of his shoulders. He says nothing of pain, but Sokka knows better than to expect as much. Jet’s pride is far too monolithic, it’s not in him to admit any sort of weakness. All Sokka can do is touch him gently, bandage him with care and attentiveness, and hope it’ll ultimately help. 

Here’s the problem Sokka has concerning Jet: he can’t stop getting caught on the details. Bullshit like the way his left cheek dimples when he smiles, or how long his eyelashes are, or the delicate bones in his hands - and he can’t stop remembering what it’s like to kiss him. Now, he knows that it isn’t like kissing a girl. Yue and Suki were soft and sweet and wonderful, but Jet was something else entirely. Not better, but different, and Sokka desperately wants to try again, just to see if memory holds. He wants to try again, and again, and again.

They’re so close, and it would be so easy. And it’s not even like it would be the first time, cloaked in that uncertainty and trepidation that comes with new territory. It happened before, all those months ago, beneath the shaded canopy of treetops, in the twinkling pitch of night. Jet, sitting besides him and leaning in so their breath mingled, so their mouths touched then connected. Then parted. And Sokka looked up into Jet’s black eyes while something hot and tight curled into a ball in his stomach. He’s just as confused now as he was then, he thinks.

“There.” He sits back, once Jet’s chest is bandaged adequately.

Jet rolls his shoulders back, shifts his weight so his back shimmies against the wall. Sokka wound the bandages a little looser than Katara tends to, but it seems fine. “Thanks.” Jet smiles and his grass bobs.

Sokka’s heart is racing and he doesn’t even know why. He feels so dumb. 

Jet leans his head back, tipping his face upward to the ceiling. “Man, I can’t wait till this is all over.”

  
  
Sokka shoves away the fog in his mind. “Why? Tired of us already?”

  
  
“Aw, that isn’t fair.” Jet’s gaze slides over. “You’re the one with a big, noble mission.”

  
  
“I thought you had a noble mission, too.”

“Maybe.” Jet rolls his grass from one side of his mouth to the other, looking away. “For now it’s more about just surviving, I guess.”   
  
He sounds so dejected, Sokka almost feels bad. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Yeah there is.” Jet scoots up, so he’s sitting straighter. “I’m going fuckin’ crazy like this, man. I can’t do anything. And people here are so - so.” He gesticulates wildly. “They don’t even know.”

“So let them know.” Sokka moves in a bit closer, until their knees brush.

“And get caught by the Dai Li again? No thanks.” 

“We’re trying to get an audience with the Earth King. If he listens to us, the rest of the city should fall into place behind him.”   
  
Jet’s eyes narrow. “You really believe that? These people are comfortable in their ignorance. They won’t easily give it up, not if they don’t have to.”

“They  _ do _ have to. Princess Azula has her sights set on this city, and believe me - she might be crazy enough to actually break down the wall. It’s not like there’s no fight to be fought here. And you’re - y’know - you’re a good leader. People will listen to you.”   
  
Jet’s lips curl up into that neat little smirk. “You really think so?”   
  
“Well, yeah.” Sokka looks away.

“So what do you propose, Water Tribe? I start the Freedom Fighters back up and defend Ba Sing Se?” He cocks his head to the side, arching an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t agree with my methodology.”   
  
“Well, I changed my mind.” Sokka says tightly. “Maybe what the world needs is crazy… extemist terrorism.”   
  
Jet laughs, sharp and loud. “That’s what you think I am? A terrorist?”

“Well, you’re damn close.”

The snickering tapers off, and Jet shakes his head. His cheek is fucking dimpling again. “Hey, if it works, who cares?“

Sokka wonders what Jet was like before they met. What sort of things he got up to in the forest, when there wasn’t anyone to stop him. He isn’t sure he wants to know.

Because it doesn’t matter. It just doesn’t matter.

On a whim and nothing else, Sokka moves in. He cups a hand over Jet’s cheek and presses forward before he can stop himself, not hesitating enough to question himself or build tension. And like that, they kiss. Sokka’s pulse is hammering between his ears, so loud he’s afraid Jet may be able to hear it. But his mouth is soft beneath Sokka’s, opening to slot together, sweet and chaste with a bite; the edge of Jet’s teeth against Sokka’s lower lip. He lifts a hand to cover Sokka’s on his cheek, palm worn and calloused. His hand is bigger than Sokka’s, which for some reason is thrilling. Sokka tilts in closer and angles his jaw until he feels the outline of Jet’s tongue. A spark trickles up the digits of his spine.

Pulling away is an active struggle, as if there’s some weight attached to him, anchoring him down. A warm buzz fizzles over his lips, energy created from their kiss. Jet now has his hand resting over the nape of Sokka’s neck, and Sokka wants to be touched by him forever.

“What was that for?” Jet asks in a low voice, looking at Sokka from under his eyelashes.

“Honestly, I have no clue.” Sokka wets his lips with his tongue, finding them already slick. 

“You trying to convince me of your plan or something?”   
  
Sokka laughs, shakes his head. “Don’t be a smartass.”   
  
“Better than being a dumbass.” One corner of Jet’s mouth quirks up into a smirk.

“Oh, shut up.” With a hand on his shoulder, Sokka playfully shoves him away. They’re both laughing. “You’re that too.”   
  
“Maybe.” Jet settles back against the wall, before he slides one finger into the sash around Sokka’s waist, and drags him closer.

Sokka follows, and lets himself be kissed once more. Then another time. Then again. 

* * *

Smellerbee and Longshot come to get Jet the night before the palace break. They’ve decided to infiltrate the palace in order to speak to the Earth King, which just so happened to coincide well with Jet’s inclining health. He’s up and walking again, able to leave his room and join the others in some semblance of normalcy. It’s good to see him so obviously feeling more like himself. And amazing, to think about how far he’s come. All that Katara has done for him.

Now that he’s better enough not to require Katara’s care, he’s headed back to the lower ring. And maybe, if he listened, he’ll actualize Sokka’s ideas and reform the Freedom Fighters. Sokka hopes so, because he needs something to do with himself, to help the war effort. Or else he’ll just wallow in self pity forever.

  
It sucks, though. Sokka doesn’t want him to leave, not when things are getting good. It’s dumb, but he really likes Jet. Likes having him around. More than just the gushy feelings and kissing stuff, Jet is someone who understands him. Another guy his age, who shares a similar mindset and intellect. With him, Sokka doesn’t feel the pressure to be the leader all the time. 

Regardless of Sokka’s desires, it’s inevitable. Like Jet says, he’s the one with the ‘big, noble quest.’

When Smellerbee and Longshot come, they all eat dinner together, and Sokka dreads the end of the meal. He can’t stop himself from looking across the kang, to Jet between his friends who so clearly cherish him, who he cherishes right back. A few times, Longshot catches his gaze, obviously the most perceptive of the group. Sokka feels like he can see right through him, which is a little disconcerting. 

After they eat, Jet pulls him aside into the other room - his room - after asking his friends for just a moment.

“So, this is it.” Sokka says, looking up at him. Jet is so fucking tall, he realizes once more now that he can stand upright.

“I don’t think so.” Jet smiles, puts a hand on Sokka’s shoulder. “I think we’ll see each other again.”   
  
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Sokka rolls his eyes. 

Jet’s arms drape around his neck. “I mean it. Who knows what’ll happen once you guys save the world?”   
  
“I thought you didn’t believe it would be that easy.” 

“It won’t” Jet runs a hand over the back of Sokka’s head, against the grain of his shaved hair. “That’s why you’ll need me again.” He winks.

Sokka bites back a smile. “Whatever.” 

“This isn’t the end.” Jet insists.

And he’s still got that thing about him that makes Sokka want to believe him, to trust him despite the sense not to. 

* * *

_ End _

  
  
  
  



End file.
